


lights will guide you home

by stardustandswimmingpools



Series: Jewish!De La Vegas [1]
Category: In the Heights - Miranda
Genre: (only briefly i'm afraid), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousins, Español | Spanish, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hanukkah, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, IF U DON'T EAT LATKES W APPLESAUCE GET OUTTA MY SIGHT, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Judaism, Latkes, Light Angst, No Romance, WHY WHO R U, bc of her rosary or idk the name, canon death tho it's just abuela, for like one paragraph, i'm pretty sure abuela is canonically catholic or whatever, sonny is a good pal and saves the day, the shehechianu lol, usnavi is a whirlwind of activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Abuela Claudia has made latkes and applesauce every Hanukkah since Usnavi's parents died.This year, Abuela isn't here. Hanukkah is ruined.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I will stan Jewsnavi until I literally die  
> 1) this fic was inspired by a conversation I had with [ @hamiltonandfluff](http://hamiltonandfluff.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, so you can thank her for this  
> 2) also this ask I sent: [ click! ](http://vivilevone.tumblr.com/post/154039589167/abuela-claudia-not-jewish-but-adoptive-savta-to)  
> 3) Abuela is Usnavi's adoptive grandma  
> 4) There's basic spanish but I'll put the translations in the bottom notes and there's one part in transliterated Hebrew which is a prayer people say on the first night of holidays and stuff, called the shehecheyanu (I'm probably spelling it wrong oops). You don't need to understand the hebrew though so don't sweat it  
> 5) Jewish!De La Vegas is eternally important to me, I will go down with this HC  
> 6) Thanks to Coldplay's song "Fix You" for the title lmao  
> Please enjoy!

His blankets are warm but the heat feels like it’s suffocating him. Usnavi jostles the sheets around as he tries to crack open his little cave to get a breath of fresh air.

He can’t see anything inside his fortress of blankets, but he closes his eyes anyway and presses his face to his pillow. Wraps the comforter tighter around him like he can squeeze himself out of existence or something.

It’s ruined, it’s all ruined. December is ruined. Hanukkah is ruined. Sonny thought the stickers on the windows were tacky? Fine, he’ll have his way. No more tacky stickers. No more hanukkiot on the window sill of the bodega. No more unhealthily fried potato pancakes and _sufganiyot_ with jelly.

No more Abuela, no more Hanukkah. That’s how it goes.

There’s a muffled knock on the door to his and Sonny’s room, and he rolls his eyes. It’s probably Sonny, come to check on him. Or Vanessa. Or Nina. Come to think of it, anyone could be at his door, but he won’t let them in. He knows they’ll try to console him. “She wouldn’t want this,” they’d say, and Usnavi would bite back his anger because that’s not the _point._

The point is that she’s gone, so it doesn’t _matter_ what she wants. The _point_ , he’d refrain from saying, is that no one can make latkes like Abuela did, and no one can light the blue hanukkiah with the white Jewish stars on it except Abuela. The point is that the holiday relied on her, and it can’t survive without her, much less thrive.

The knock is louder and more impatient, and Usnavi knows it’s Sonny. His knocks are always a little bit off, a half beat for one and then a full beat until the next. Uneven, wayward, just like him. In a good way, though.

The door creaks for a short second as it’s thrown open, and Usnavi halfheartedly mumbles into his pillow, “Get outta here, Son’, leave me alone.”

“Usnavi, get out of your damn pillow fort or so help me —”

“Language,” he scolds out of habit. “It ain’t a pillow fort, it’s my bed, and I’m not leaving. Hanukkah is ruined, we both know it, so get out.”

“Usnavi.” There’s a _clink_ beside his head, probably on his bedside table. It’s a wonder that Sonny can even hear him, really. And what did he just put on his bedside table? A cup? Maybe water? Water sounds good right now. It’s hot under these blankets.

“I said leave me alone, Sonny.”

“No, you listen to me.” The blankets are yanked back from over his head before he can protest, and Usnavi makes a grab for them as they fall from Sonny’s hand to the edge of the bed.

 _“Déjame en paz, carajo!_ Can’t you see I’m mourning?” Usnavi snaps, and reaches for the blankets again. The light in his room is a lot to take in all at once, and he blinks dazedly.

Sonny smacks his hand away. “Man, I’m trying to talk! Would you just humor me and listen a second?”

Usnavi groans louder than he needs to, buries his face in his hands, and then sighs melodramatically. “Fine, make it quick.”

Sonny's voice has an underlying tremor as he gestures toward the thing he's set down on the side table. “I made these. They’re kinda bad, I know, I ain’t no cook, and I know you think Hanukkah is ruined, but I made the latkes anyway so you better eat ‘em, you hear?”

Usnavi’s eyes drift to his bedside table. A ceramic plate is piled with slightly burnt potato latkes, still steaming. They look good, especially compared to what Sonny usually makes. He cuts his eyes to Sonny.

“Ms. Rosario helped me a little,” Sonny admits. His tone is fierce and it’s a rare moment that reminds Usnavi that Sonny’s not just his little boy anymore. He’s sixteen, growing up, and soon he’ll be out of their house and it’ll be Usnavi, all alone in this _casa grande_ meant for three.

He feels his eyes sting and then the tears spill.

“Shit, sorry,” Sonny mutters, and Usnavi shakes his head and swipes hurriedly at the tears. He doesn't even have the heart to reprimand Sonny for swearing.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to — ah, damn it,” he says in a hollow voice, rubbing his eyes furiously with the backs of his hands. “Thanks, Sonny. Thank you. That’s what I meant to say.”

Sonny’s eyes are watering too, and he sniffs and says in a strangled voice, “Well, you know. Hanukkah is Hanukkah.”

Usnavi’s eyes are red but so are Sonny’s, and he surges forward and pulls his cousin into a tight embrace.

“ _Lo siento_ ,” he murmurs thickly, and kisses Sonny’s forehead. “If I ruined Hanukkah. More, I mean.”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Sonny reassures him, and then pulls away from Usnavi, blushing up to his ears. “Camila and I had a lot of fun in the kitchen.”

“What I'm hearing is, you burnt the place down,” Usnavi says, but a smile is creeping onto his face, so he sniffles and wipes his eyes with the sleeves on his sweater.

“Shut up,” Sonny retorts. “Come on, I worked my butt off for these latkes and we still gotta light the candles.”

Usnavi picks up the plate. “No eating in the bedroom, I’ve told you a hundred times.”

“You and your rules,” Sonny grumbles. “I'm getting out all the hanukkiot, and I'm a put them on our windowsill, and we all gonna light our respective hanukkiah, just like we always do, a'ight?”

“Who's the adult in this house, anyway?” Usnavi counters as he exits their room. Sonny trails behind.

“Says the boy who was just hiding under his blankets.”

“ _You_ burnt the latkes.”

“Well, blame Camila. She left to get jelly for the donuts and abandoned me and the potatoes frying, how was I s'posed to know when to turn 'em off?”

Usnavi rolls his eyes, but he grins at the image of Sonny turning all the knobs on the stove as he tries to extinguish the burner. He sets the plate down in the middle of their dining room table and turns to Sonny.

“ _Gracías,_ Sonny,” he says, and puts a hand on Sonny's shoulder. Sonny looks like he wants to pull away, but to his credit, he stays firmly planted on the floor, and for once meets Usnavi's eyes. “ _De verdad._ I...”

“I know,” Sonny says.

There's a moment of silent understanding that passes between the cousins; something unspoken yet intangibly real. Then Sonny steps away from Usnavi's outstretched arm and says casually, “By the way, I invited everyone over, they'll be here in about ten minutes.”

“Ten – Sonny De la Vega!” Usnavi yelps, and then he's racing around, trying to get the applesauce in a bowl and the sour cream in another bowl and the table has to be set and the living room is still a mess and what did you do to the kitchen and where are the extra chairs and _carajo_ Sonny put the hanukkiot out what are you laughing at?

“Oil, we need oil,” he says finally, stopping in his tracks. “Sonny, we need –“

“'Cuz, I got it all covered,” Sonny says, biting back a laugh with a grin. He lifts the bottle of olive oil triumphantly, then pours it into the first little cup of the special hanukkiah, the one that Usnavi always lights. “See? Your hanukkiah, ready-made for lighting a dangerous flame in.” He pokes the wick through the little cork circle and drops it into the oil. It floats.

Usnavi wipes his forehead with his (now discarded) sweater sleeve. “Man, Sonny, you can't drop somethin' like that on me –“

The doorbell rings and Usnavi's eyes widen. “I gotta change my shirt. You get the door.”

“Usnavi, let it be,” Sonny says sternly. Surprising both Sonny and himself, Usnavi halts and turns toward the door.

Sonny grasps the doorknob and twists it to admit Camila Rosario, who’s back from the store with jelly to fill the donuts. She smiles softly at Usnavi and ruffles his hair, and then says teasingly, “But where were you when I needed jelly from your bodega?”

The doorbell rings again, and their company has arrived.

When they light the first candle, Usnavi feels something light up inside of him, a flame being rekindled, something missing since Abuela died.

“ _Baruch atah adonai eloheinu melech ha-olam, shehechiyanu, v'kiyamanu, v'higiyanu lazman ha zeh_ ,” he chants. His voice is scratchy and not what you'd call pretty, but it's the same words. Abuela used to sing this, but not anymore. It's on him now.

“ _Alabanza,_ Abuela,” Usnavi says under his breath, and looks up to the ceiling for just a moment, because he doesn't believe in heaven but Abuela must be somewhere.

Camila puts a hand on his arm. “ _Vamos_ , Usnavi. The food's getting cold.”

He sits, and thinks that Hanukkah is about family, and he has the biggest, warmest family he could ask for.

“Abuela would be proud,” Camila says earnestly.

Maybe she would be proud.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Hebrew:**  
>  **Sufganiyot:** donuts  
>  **Latkes:** a special kinda potato pancake that you fry til it looks like [this](http://toriavey.com/images/2011/11/Yukon-Gold-Latkes-Wide-3-640x480.jpg) and then you eat it with applesauce or sour cream ~~unless you're an absolute heathen wtf~~  
>  **Spanish:**  
>  **Déjame en paz, carajo!:** Leave me alone, fuck! (More like "for fuck's sake")  
>  **Casa grande:** Big house  
>  **Lo siento:** I'm sorry  
>  **Grácias [...] De verdad:** Thank you [...] Really.  
>  **Alabanza:** To raise this thing to God's face, and to sing, quite literally _praise_ to this :)  
>  **Vamos:** Come on
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked this! Questions, complaints, compliments, concerns and queries may be directed towards the comments section, and you can find me on Tumblr [@vivilevone](http://vivilevone.tumblr.com/) or [@justcuzfandoms](http://justcuzfandoms.tumblr.com/), see you!


End file.
